Beautiful Eyes
by NsophieP
Summary: May thirtieth 1431 was probably one of the darkest days in the history of France and England. What happened that day? Non slash.


**Warning: There is a bit of language up ahead, so I thought I'd warn you before you began reading. Most people don't mind but there are people don't like it and we must respect that. Enjoy!**

No, it couldn't be. He had told him that she would be fine, he had trusted him. So why was she up there surrounded by flames?

His eyes blurred with tears but he forced himself to look up; she too was crying.

For once in his life, he had trusted England, and he had mercilessly stabbed him in the back.

He then heard her, he heard her call his name. She had found him in the tumult of people. She looked at him in the eyes. Oh, those beautiful eyes! Then, she smiled, for him.

* * *

"You know, France, you shouldn't blame England for all your misfortunes. He has to abide by whatever his leaders tell him to, you know that yourself."

"I know Jeanne, but still…"

"But nothing!"

Her beautiful blue eyes scolded him. Who would have thought that a powerful country who was hundreds of years old would be reprimanded by a mere human girl? But then again, she was no normal girl.

One day, a young man had approached France with the promise of divine intervention and he had listened. And for now, God did seem to go whenever the young man went. Because of this, even when he had learned of her true identity, France still followed her to the very ends of the World. She was a fearless woman indeed.

"Why would you bring that up now? You do realize we are all out against him and his king, don't you?"

"I had a dream last night."

"What happened? What did they tell you?"

"They told me that something bad would happen. They didn't specify, they only said that it would be bad."

France stared lovingly at her face and wondered how it was that he hadn't noticed at first that she was a girl. When he had first met her, he had thought that her feminine features were simply due to his youth, an androgynous beauty that would soon fade as the boy grew to be a man.

"France…" She started.

"Oui?"

"If something really bad does happen, even if I'm involved, I don't want you to hold England responsible."

"Jeanne?"

"You are countries, Francis." She used his human name. "You live lives far longer than humans like I do. It is probable that in the future you will need his aid. So, I want you to forgive him no matter what. Promise me."

"But Jeanne…"

"Promise me!"

"Yes, I promise." Only then did she smile.

He promised, yet he soon dismissed it. He hoped, no, he believed, that after coming all this way God wouldn't make them loose. Especially now, that they had achieved their goal of bringing their king to Paris.

Days later, Jeanne was captured at the outskirts of Compiègne alongside with France. Again and again, Jeanne reassured France that everything would be well; even when a look of sadness passed through her eyes.

None of their escape attempts worked and soon they were both taken to the city of Rouen.

There, the duke of Burgundy was plotting against the young woman and her beloved country. England was present as well, though his mood was gloomy and tired. How much longer would this bloody war keep up?

"How can I make them fall? If only I could kill France then maybe that coward king of theirs will run away with his tail between his legs."

England rolled his eyes; it wasn't the first time that humans wondered about ways to kill a country.

"Well, if we can't kill him, we must find a way to hurt him so badly he won't be able to fight back. I know, that cross-dressing bitch; France is very fond of her. Maybe if something were to happen to her…"

England looked up at the mention of the girl. He had met her once before at the battlefield, and even when she was fighting on France's side he had felt respect for her and he could admit to himself that he had even liked her. Not many humans could understand the sort of life countries had to live.

France loved that girl. England knew that such a love could only bring pain to countries like they were. Normal humans had so short lifespans that they were born and then died almost in an instant through the eyes of a country.

England had warned France of the dangers of this kind of affection, but the bloody romantic wanker hadn't listened. Yes, he didn't get along with frog face, but he didn't hate him that much.

If something bad were to happen to the girl, France would be devastated and he would have to deal with his conscience later on for harming the girl. No, he couldn't let anything happen to her.

"My lord, there may be other ways. I've heard the girl has been spoken to by angels, saints and God himself." That was it; maybe Faith would make the duke reconsider his options.

"You're brilliant England! We can turn a saint into a blasphemous heretic."

Oh crap, he made it worse.

"But my lord, that would be difficult. The girl is an avid catholic and she is compromised with both her country and God."

"No worries, the trial will already be set. I will personally choose the ones to participate in the tribunal. With some good luck, the girl will soon be on her way to a stake."

This was bad; he had to get to France and the girl.

"That is an excellent plan, my lord."

"Good, we will begin the preparations for the trial."

England hurried to the cells where France and the girl were being held. "Hullo there."

"You! Damn you for this and for helping that traitor!" France shouted as he grabbed England's shirt through the bars.

"France, stop it!" Jeanne called out from her cell.

"Yes dimwit, I'm trying to help you!"

France, reluctantly let go of England.

"What do you want?" France spat.

"Listen to me blue eyes, the duke is setting up a trial for your lovely friend over there. He will be bringing inquisitors of his choice and charge her of heresy. He wants her on a stake."

France's eyes widened with terror and his lip trembled. "They can't do that. She was sent by God himself…"

"They can and they will. I've seen it happen before. But there is something we can do." France's eyes were filled with new hope as he listened intently. "As inquisitors, they are obliged to ask people for a confession. In most cases, this confession can save their skin. Because of who she is, I am sure a confession will grant her the inquisitors' pardon."

"Do you think it could work?"

"Yes."

"I'm not doing it."

Both France and England turned towards Jeanne.

"What? Why not?" France asked.

"I will not lie and deny God. If this is what God has planned then so be it."

England now wondered whether the girl was the bravest human he had met or the most idiotic.

"Jeanne, please. You've already done what God has asked of you, surely now He would understand if you just wanted to live. Please do it, do it for me." France was already begging on his knees.

The girl seemed to reconsider and sighed. "Very well, I'll do it."

A few days after, Jeanne was taken for her trial and she confessed.

"If the girl has made her confession, then there is no more need for us to be here."

And thus, she was pardoned.

England felt as if though a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and he took the liberty of adorning his face with a discreet smile. Soon, the girl would be out of danger.

Jeanne had already suspected that it was all a trap as soon as English soldiers took her to an isolated cell. She knew there was no escaping it and she would rather die by her Lord's side than in a cold cell away from the rest of the World. This was why two days later she retracted from her confession. And thus, she was condemned to die at the stake.

England had already left for his home when Jeanne retracted and when news of her execution had reached him, it was already too late.

It was May thirtieth and France had been finally being freed. He longed to see the beautiful blue eyes of Jeanne. He would soon leave Rouen and go look for her at whatever place they had sent her. Big was his surprise when he saw a stake ready to be lit and tied to it, was his beloved Jeanne. The soldiers were given their orders and they lit the firewood beneath her bare feet.

No, it couldn't be. He had told him that she would be fine, he had trusted him. So why was she up there surrounded by flames?

His eyes blurred with tears but he forced himself to look up; she too was crying.

For once in his life, he had trusted England, and he had mercilessly stabbed him in the back.

He then heard her, he heard her call his name. "Francis!"

She had found him in the tumult of people. She looked at him in the eyes. Oh, those beautiful eyes! Then, she smiled, for him.

He couldn't hold it in any longer and began to sob hysterically; he no longer cared who might see him because his beloved Jeanne was going to die a horrible death. His sobs were drowned by the shouting of the people.

Once again, he looked up and he could no longer see her, the flames had already claimed her. Through his blurry eyes, he could distinguish a young man holding a crucifix high over the people's heads. He recognized him as one of his Jeanne's followers. His stomach clenched, his mind got clouded and the most horrible pain settled in his heart.

* * *

"Hey France, wake up!"

France's eyes opened and saw that he had fallen asleep at a G8 meeting. All of the other great countries had gathered around him, some with curiosity and others with concern.

"What is it? I only fell asleep." His voice was a bit hoarse he noted.

"Dude, you were crying. And I mean like sobbing crying." For once, America sported a serious look on his face.

France gently touched his cheek and found it wet.

"Are you okay, big brother France?" Little Italy asked him, not that he was little anymore.

"Oui, I'm okay."

"Of course he's okay. He was probably just having a dream about a bad hair day or something of the sort." England spoke and France couldn't help but throw a spiteful and hurt look at him. "Don't worry much about him. In fact, I'll take him myself somewhere else so he can get some tea or something."

Before France could protest, England had already dragged him away and out of the meeting room. The remaining countries looked at each other in surprise at the sudden civility that England had shown towards France.

England had taken France to a deserted room and had looked away as soon as he closed the door and locked it.

"It was about her, wasn't it?" England asked.

"What?"

"About the girl, you frog face!"

"What if it was?"

"You know what day is today, don't you?"

France's face darkened and he just kept silent.

"Today is May thirtieth."

"Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I forgot how you let her die up there? Do you think I have forgotten how her face looked like as the fire burned her?" France snapped and his eyes welled up with tears.

Oh no, not this time. And France hid his face in his hands. He wouldn't let England see his tears again. Meanwhile, England just hung his head in shame and waited for France to finish. It hurt him to see a close ally break like that, so he did something he hadn't done in quite some time. He got closer to France and hugged him tightly. France flinched but then leaned against England and let his tears flow. They stood there for a long time.

"You know France, when I got news about her execution, I immediately returned to Rouen. It took some time and when I got there you had already gone away. I spoke with the duke of Burgundy and…" Should he continue? This revelation could hurt France even more.

"What did he told you?"

"He told me, that even if Jeanne had confessed he would have still gotten her killed. He was planning to make it look as if a drunken soldier had stabbed her."

France stopped breathing. All that time he thought she could have been saved from the flames, but even if she had, she still would have died. She had never been safe. Slowly, France sunk to the floor while England still had him in his embrace.

"I know it hurts, but think about all she did for you. She would scold you if she saw you wallowing in depression like that. She was one hell of a woman."

France smiled. It was true; she would probably scold him if she could. He sighed as he made a decision.

"I forgive you."

"What?"

"Before her capture she made me promise that I would forgive you no matter what. I never kept it until now."

Now it was England's turn to cry. "Damn, she sure would have given you the scolding of the century you wanker."

They both stayed there for more than an hour until both men had calmed down. In the meantime, they had shared stories of voyages, adventures and the worst of their bosses across time.

"You know. The day isn't over. We can collect our things and go to Rouen and pay our respects to Jeanne. We could get her some flowers too. I'm sure she would love to know that we aren't at each other's necks now." England suggested.

"You're right. Let's get going then."

At dusk, both countries had already made their way to Rouen and were both standing before the flowerbed where once before stood a stake. They left roses there and smiling they made their way back while unknown to them an angel with beautiful eyes smiled lovingly at them.

 **Author's Note:** **Hello my fellow hetalians. I hope you enjoyed reading this one-shot (I got the feels while writing it). I could just see France standing there, unable to help Jeanne. I would absolutely love to know your thoughts on the story, if you have some constructive criticism it will be welcomed as well, so please review. I like it when I see a lot of views but I love it when you review. So pretty please with sugar on top? So until next time! Pastaaaaaaaaa~**


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